Darko Cernovsek
Soul Of Vengeance
Thug Life
Such a beautiful sensation. The sharp 'twack' of a baton on his cheek. He could taste blood in his mouth, and feel a tooth-fragment with the tip of his tongue, as his head snapped partway around. It almost made him grin.
The cop rushed him, attempting a tackle. He bent his knees halfway out of reflex, lowering his centre of mass and planting his feet wide, as he absorbed the rush, his forehead connecting crisply with the policeman's nose in a headbutt, as they briefly cradled each other. The cop was bigger, but that just meant more mass connected with the man's hard forehead.
A pained grunt from the fat pig was satisfying, his nose painted with blood. Moreso, when the next headbutt, higher, connected with his shades, sending glass splinters into the cop's eye. The man shoved him away, as the pig stumbled back with a howl of pain, dropping the baton, one hand going to his eyes. He started reaching for his gun with the other hand, as the other cop yelled something, trying to latch onto the man's back. The man ignored his impromptu living backpack for the moment, as he dove forward, grabbing the pig's gun just as it cleared the holster, and twisting with both hands.
The shot went wide, as the two briefly wrestled for the firearm... which ended with the barrel pointing upwards, then backwards, vaguely toward the cop's neck... before the next shot went off. The fat pig dropped like a sack of potatoes, gurgling, as the gun ended up in the man's hand.
The man could feel the weight gone from his back, as the other cop let go... he spun... before a shot took him in the upper gut, just above and to the right of the navel. This time, the pain was like a dull, searing poker through his intestines and liver, feeling... heavy. He resisted the urge to sink to his knees, as he returned the favour, emptying the remaining rounds in his appropriated weapon, into the other cop's chest, gut, and pelvis, with an ululating roar of rage and pain. His hand was shaking in reaction.
He spat on the bullet-ridden corpse, leaving the first cop to choke to death, his throat turned to mush.
The man stumbled to his car, one hand holding the wound in his gut. He coughed briefly, a few drops of blood coming out with the cough.
The pain was shooting upwards from the gut, as he drove, clenching his teeth. With one shaking hand, he reached into his jacket pocket, for a phone.
"I'm... c-comin' to the safehouse! Had a run-in with some pigs!" - he growled tersely, hiding the pain well.
~"How the fuck did they know where the deal was?! Did they stake us out? Shit... c'mon in. But make damn sure you're not followed, or I'll blow your brains out personally!"~ - a cold, yet angry tone came back, before the line went dead.
"Fuck you too..." - the man grunted through clenched teeth, examining his hand that was pressing on the wound. It was drenched with blood.
***
An hour later, he was having the bullet removed, under partial aneaesthesis, by the gang's impromptu medic, in a basement medical area which in some ways, was dirtier then the streets outside. But he couldn't be picky about it... going to a hospital would be like announcing to the police exactly where he disappeared to, since doctors were obligated to report-in gunshot wounds. Suddenly, another thug barged in...
"We gotta get back there and get the white! We can't let the cops find it. Boss's gonna have our skins!"
"You crazy?! The whole lot's probably swarming with 'em right now. It's gonna be fine where it is, unless they suddenly take to opening sewer manholes! We can lay low till tomorrow night, then sneak in there and get it." - the man retorted.
"I ain't takin' the heat when the boss gets here, cuz you got scared of a couple pigs. You shoulda played it cool and got 'em off your case, not flipped out at 'em! Moron." - the thug snarled.
"Yeah well I got 'em off my case - permanent like. Fuck 'em." - the man spat to the side of the gurney, glancing down at his bandaged stomach.
"I know what happens when you 'play it cool'. Just give 'em time to call in backup! And they've been hanging around there for a reason, they fuckin' KNEW where the drop was made! Fuckin' stakeout. Maybe we got a rat, maybe someone else squealed, on the other end of the deal... So get off and call the boss. Tell him... tell him the drop was called off for tomorrow, tell 'im they got cold feet, tell 'im they got measles for all I care! Just make it good... and we're gonna have the white by the time he gets back. He don't need to know shit, until we got it." - he added, somewhat reassuringly.
The thug bit his lip, then turned away to kick at a crate nearby.
"Gonna be both our heads if he finds out... fine... FINE! I'll make somethin' up... but you better not fuck up again! And take Spyder and Zoom with you... case you need some extra firepower. We need that white, even if it means cuttin' through half the PD." - he growled under his breath, storming out.
Just at the doorway, he paused, almost as an afterthought...
"How's the stomach?" - over his shoulder.
"How you think?! Doc's been diggin' around there for the past half hour, feels like I got shot two more times... ow!" - the man grunted, but the Doc, a wiry, bald-shaven young woman with lots of chains and leather, cut him off with a shove.
"He's gonna be fine... unless I shoot him for real, for makin' a mess on my floor!" - she grinned.
***
Tomorrow night, the trio skulked around the shadowy corner of the block, looking at the lot, and the 'do not cross' lines strewn up all around it. The big flurry of searches following the shooting, had died down, and the lot seemed deserted.
"You know where it is?" - Spyder whispered.
"Yeah. East end, between some trash cans. A sewer manhole. You'll know it's the right one cuz there's a busted soda machine next to it. Go get it." - the man nodded.
The two glared.
"What you mean, 'go get it'...? What the fuck you gonna be doin'?!" - Zoom snapped.
"Gonna cover you from here, that's what! Unless you think the same guy hangin' around the lot the next night, isn't gonna draw attention if there's anyone watching?! They got my face on GoPro! Grow a brain. Just get in there nice and casual and get it, and if any pigs come out, I'mma have a good shot at 'em. They see me, they'll just start shooting. They see you, they gonna think you're just some hobos. Probably come close and try to haul you off under arrest. Givin' me a good shot."
"Oh that makes me feel a whole lot better! Shit... you better be ready, got it?" - Spyder growled.
With that, the two stepped into the open, approaching the do not cross lines. Meanwhile, the man unslung a semi-auto rifle, some knockoff of an SKS, then found a nearby stack of dumpsters and trash cans, to take position. The stench was these, but so was cover, if needed. And a chance for a quick getaway, with their car just down the block.
The lot was semi-illuminated by a pair of streetlights, and a flickering one on the far end, with several cars parked around it.
As he watched the two duck under the line, and approach the busted soda machine next to the wall, a spotlight suddenly came on, from off to the side, awashing them and making them shade their eyes.
Here we go...
The man thought, taking aim at the spotlight, as the two were ordered to get down on the ground, face down, a half dozen cops approaching cautiously, guns aimed at the two prostrate figures. He shifted aim towards the approaching policemen, waiting until they were far enough out in the open. The spotlight just made them framed better, easier targets in the night.
Fish in a barrel, baby!
The first one went down with a trio of shots, two hitting, one missing, another taking a round to the thigh as two more zipped past, dropping down with a howl, before the other four began scattering, looking for cover. Spyder and Zoom took full advantage, scrambling to their feet, their pistols out. They kept moving towards the soda machine, laying down some fire in the direction of the scattering cops, one more going down. Return fire took Spyder in the shoulder, making him stumble... then another, in the flank. He went down, riving in agony. Zoom kept firing, as he took cover next to the manhole, behind the trash cans, which absorbed a handful more rounds fired in his direction.
The man expended the magazine, popping in another one, as he kept up his own covering fire towards the shadowy shapes now taking cover on the opposite end of the lot, between parked cars.
He had only one spare left, and he had to keep them pinned long enough for Zoom to get down into the sewers. He thought he hit one more cop, but wasn't sure... whatever the case, the fire from the cops was dying down, as they seemed to be taking deeper cover. Giving Zoom a chance to open the manhole and disappear.
His job was done. Zoom would be on his own in the sewers once he got the package, but the cops wouldn't be following, probably busy shitting their pants and calling-in every unit in the city, knowing those cowards - which he did. It was time to get the fuck out of there, as he sprinted back to the car, intent on getting as far away as possible, before the heat came.
Spyder - fuck him. Shit happens in this business.
THE END
Such a beautiful sensation. The sharp 'twack' of a baton on his cheek. He could taste blood in his mouth, and feel a tooth-fragment with the tip of his tongue, as his head snapped partway around. It almost made him grin.
The cop rushed him, attempting a tackle. He bent his knees halfway out of reflex, lowering his centre of mass and planting his feet wide, as he absorbed the rush, his forehead connecting crisply with the policeman's nose in a headbutt, as they briefly cradled each other. The cop was bigger, but that just meant more mass connected with the man's hard forehead.
A pained grunt from the fat pig was satisfying, his nose painted with blood. Moreso, when the next headbutt, higher, connected with his shades, sending glass splinters into the cop's eye. The man shoved him away, as the pig stumbled back with a howl of pain, dropping the baton, one hand going to his eyes. He started reaching for his gun with the other hand, as the other cop yelled something, trying to latch onto the man's back. The man ignored his impromptu living backpack for the moment, as he dove forward, grabbing the pig's gun just as it cleared the holster, and twisting with both hands.
The shot went wide, as the two briefly wrestled for the firearm... which ended with the barrel pointing upwards, then backwards, vaguely toward the cop's neck... before the next shot went off. The fat pig dropped like a sack of potatoes, gurgling, as the gun ended up in the man's hand.
The man could feel the weight gone from his back, as the other cop let go... he spun... before a shot took him in the upper gut, just above and to the right of the navel. This time, the pain was like a dull, searing poker through his intestines and liver, feeling... heavy. He resisted the urge to sink to his knees, as he returned the favour, emptying the remaining rounds in his appropriated weapon, into the other cop's chest, gut, and pelvis, with an ululating roar of rage and pain. His hand was shaking in reaction.
He spat on the bullet-ridden corpse, leaving the first cop to choke to death, his throat turned to mush.
The man stumbled to his car, one hand holding the wound in his gut. He coughed briefly, a few drops of blood coming out with the cough.
The pain was shooting upwards from the gut, as he drove, clenching his teeth. With one shaking hand, he reached into his jacket pocket, for a phone.
"I'm... c-comin' to the safehouse! Had a run-in with some pigs!" - he growled tersely, hiding the pain well.
~"How the fuck did they know where the deal was?! Did they stake us out? Shit... c'mon in. But make damn sure you're not followed, or I'll blow your brains out personally!"~ - a cold, yet angry tone came back, before the line went dead.
"Fuck you too..." - the man grunted through clenched teeth, examining his hand that was pressing on the wound. It was drenched with blood.
***
An hour later, he was having the bullet removed, under partial aneaesthesis, by the gang's impromptu medic, in a basement medical area which in some ways, was dirtier then the streets outside. But he couldn't be picky about it... going to a hospital would be like announcing to the police exactly where he disappeared to, since doctors were obligated to report-in gunshot wounds. Suddenly, another thug barged in...
"We gotta get back there and get the white! We can't let the cops find it. Boss's gonna have our skins!"
"You crazy?! The whole lot's probably swarming with 'em right now. It's gonna be fine where it is, unless they suddenly take to opening sewer manholes! We can lay low till tomorrow night, then sneak in there and get it." - the man retorted.
"I ain't takin' the heat when the boss gets here, cuz you got scared of a couple pigs. You shoulda played it cool and got 'em off your case, not flipped out at 'em! Moron." - the thug snarled.
"Yeah well I got 'em off my case - permanent like. Fuck 'em." - the man spat to the side of the gurney, glancing down at his bandaged stomach.
"I know what happens when you 'play it cool'. Just give 'em time to call in backup! And they've been hanging around there for a reason, they fuckin' KNEW where the drop was made! Fuckin' stakeout. Maybe we got a rat, maybe someone else squealed, on the other end of the deal... So get off and call the boss. Tell him... tell him the drop was called off for tomorrow, tell 'im they got cold feet, tell 'im they got measles for all I care! Just make it good... and we're gonna have the white by the time he gets back. He don't need to know shit, until we got it." - he added, somewhat reassuringly.
The thug bit his lip, then turned away to kick at a crate nearby.
"Gonna be both our heads if he finds out... fine... FINE! I'll make somethin' up... but you better not fuck up again! And take Spyder and Zoom with you... case you need some extra firepower. We need that white, even if it means cuttin' through half the PD." - he growled under his breath, storming out.
Just at the doorway, he paused, almost as an afterthought...
"How's the stomach?" - over his shoulder.
"How you think?! Doc's been diggin' around there for the past half hour, feels like I got shot two more times... ow!" - the man grunted, but the Doc, a wiry, bald-shaven young woman with lots of chains and leather, cut him off with a shove.
"He's gonna be fine... unless I shoot him for real, for makin' a mess on my floor!" - she grinned.
***
Tomorrow night, the trio skulked around the shadowy corner of the block, looking at the lot, and the 'do not cross' lines strewn up all around it. The big flurry of searches following the shooting, had died down, and the lot seemed deserted.
"You know where it is?" - Spyder whispered.
"Yeah. East end, between some trash cans. A sewer manhole. You'll know it's the right one cuz there's a busted soda machine next to it. Go get it." - the man nodded.
The two glared.
"What you mean, 'go get it'...? What the fuck you gonna be doin'?!" - Zoom snapped.
"Gonna cover you from here, that's what! Unless you think the same guy hangin' around the lot the next night, isn't gonna draw attention if there's anyone watching?! They got my face on GoPro! Grow a brain. Just get in there nice and casual and get it, and if any pigs come out, I'mma have a good shot at 'em. They see me, they'll just start shooting. They see you, they gonna think you're just some hobos. Probably come close and try to haul you off under arrest. Givin' me a good shot."
"Oh that makes me feel a whole lot better! Shit... you better be ready, got it?" - Spyder growled.
With that, the two stepped into the open, approaching the do not cross lines. Meanwhile, the man unslung a semi-auto rifle, some knockoff of an SKS, then found a nearby stack of dumpsters and trash cans, to take position. The stench was these, but so was cover, if needed. And a chance for a quick getaway, with their car just down the block.
The lot was semi-illuminated by a pair of streetlights, and a flickering one on the far end, with several cars parked around it.
As he watched the two duck under the line, and approach the busted soda machine next to the wall, a spotlight suddenly came on, from off to the side, awashing them and making them shade their eyes.
Here we go...
The man thought, taking aim at the spotlight, as the two were ordered to get down on the ground, face down, a half dozen cops approaching cautiously, guns aimed at the two prostrate figures. He shifted aim towards the approaching policemen, waiting until they were far enough out in the open. The spotlight just made them framed better, easier targets in the night.
Fish in a barrel, baby!
The first one went down with a trio of shots, two hitting, one missing, another taking a round to the thigh as two more zipped past, dropping down with a howl, before the other four began scattering, looking for cover. Spyder and Zoom took full advantage, scrambling to their feet, their pistols out. They kept moving towards the soda machine, laying down some fire in the direction of the scattering cops, one more going down. Return fire took Spyder in the shoulder, making him stumble... then another, in the flank. He went down, riving in agony. Zoom kept firing, as he took cover next to the manhole, behind the trash cans, which absorbed a handful more rounds fired in his direction.
The man expended the magazine, popping in another one, as he kept up his own covering fire towards the shadowy shapes now taking cover on the opposite end of the lot, between parked cars.
He had only one spare left, and he had to keep them pinned long enough for Zoom to get down into the sewers. He thought he hit one more cop, but wasn't sure... whatever the case, the fire from the cops was dying down, as they seemed to be taking deeper cover. Giving Zoom a chance to open the manhole and disappear.
His job was done. Zoom would be on his own in the sewers once he got the package, but the cops wouldn't be following, probably busy shitting their pants and calling-in every unit in the city, knowing those cowards - which he did. It was time to get the fuck out of there, as he sprinted back to the car, intent on getting as far away as possible, before the heat came.
Spyder - fuck him. Shit happens in this business.
THE END